The storm had passed, leaving the morning sea eerily calm. Seraphine stood at the helm of The Crimson Wave, her hands firm on the wheel, her eyes scanning the horizon. Behind her, the remnants of the crew's battle against the Scarlet Empire still lingered—scattered weapons, ripped sails, and the faint scent of smoke from the Dread Hawk's destruction.

Below deck, her prisoner, Marcus Vale, stirred in the brig. But Seraphine wasn't thinking about him. Her mind was on the shipwrecked nobleman she'd rescued two days prior. Callen Mercer stood at the bow of her ship now, his fine clothes in tatters but his gaze unwavering. He'd been watching her since dawn, and it was beginning to grate on her nerves.

Rigg, her quartermaster, approached, his footsteps heavy on the wooden planks. "We've patched the sails, Cap'n," he said, his gravelly voice breaking the silence. "Should be good to move at full speed again."

"Good," Seraphine replied, her tone sharp. "We'll need it if we're to catch the Corsairs before they disappear again."

Rigg hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "And what of him?" He jerked his thumb toward the brig. "Marcus Vale's alive, though I can't say for how long. Man took quite a beating."

"He'll live," Seraphine said coldly. "At least until he tells me what I want to know."

Rigg grunted in approval, but his gaze drifted toward Callen. "And the noble? What's his story?"

Seraphine's lips pressed into a thin line. "Still figuring that out."

Below Deck: The Prisoner

Seraphine descended into the brig, her boots echoing against the wooden floorboards. Marcus was awake now, sitting against the bars of his cell, a sly grin spreading across his bruised face.

"Captain Drake," he drawled, his voice hoarse. "To what do I owe the honor?"

Seraphine crouched in front of the cell, her cerulean eyes boring into his. "You know why you're here."

Marcus chuckled, though the motion made him wince. "Ah, revenge. Such a noble pursuit. But tell me, Seraphine, when was the last time revenge actually brought someone peace?"

Her fist slammed into the bars, silencing his laughter. "I don't care about peace. I care about justice—for my family, for the lives you destroyed."

Marcus leaned forward, his tone mocking. "Justice, is it? Funny, I seem to recall your father begging for mercy. Do you plan to beg, too?"

Seraphine drew her pistol, pressing the barrel against his forehead through the bars. "The only one begging here will be you, Marcus. Where are the Corsairs?"

For a moment, his bravado faltered, but he quickly masked it with a smirk. "You think you can scare me into talking? You'll have to do better than that."

She smiled coldly, lowering the pistol. "Oh, I plan to."

Above Deck: The Nobleman

Seraphine found Callen standing near the bow, his dark eyes fixed on the endless stretch of sea. He didn't turn when she approached, but his voice broke the silence.

"Do you ever tire of it?" he asked softly.

"Tire of what?" she replied, folding her arms.

"The fighting. The blood. The endless chase for something you may never truly find."

Her jaw tightened. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

She hesitated, her defenses bristling. "Everything I do, I do for my family. For the people who were taken from me. You don't just stop fighting for something like that."

Callen finally turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "And when it's over? When you've had your revenge, what then?"

"I'll cross that bridge when I get to it," she said curtly. "Why do you care, Mercer? What's your angle?"

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I know what it's like to carry a burden like yours, Captain. I've seen what revenge can do to a person. It's a fire that burns everything it touches—even the one who wields it."

For a fleeting moment, Seraphine's walls cracked, but she quickly rebuilt them, stepping back. "Save your sermons for someone who cares."

But as she walked away, his words lingered, haunting her like the ghosts of her past.

Later That Night: A New Threat

As darkness fell, the crew gathered around a map in the captain's quarters. Seraphine traced a finger over the parchment, her eyes narrowing at a marked island.

"This is where the Corsairs are headed," she said. "Vale's ship was carrying supplies—cannonballs, gunpowder, rations. They wouldn't risk loading up unless they were preparing for something big."

Rigg frowned. "An ambush?"

"Possibly," she admitted. "But if we're going to take them down, this is our chance."

The door creaked open, and Callen stepped inside. "If you're planning to face the Corsairs, you'll need more than just brute force," he said.

"And what do you suggest?" Seraphine asked, her tone laced with skepticism.

He walked to the map, pointing to a smaller island near the Corsairs' destination. "This is a supply outpost. If we strike there first, we can cut off their resources before they regroup."

Rigg snorted. "And how would you know that?"

Callen met Seraphine's gaze, his expression steady. "Because I've been there. My... connections to the Corsairs aren't as distant as I'd like them to be."

The room fell silent. Seraphine's eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring. "What are you hiding, Mercer?"

He held her gaze, unflinching. "Let's just say I have as much reason to hate the Corsairs as you do. If you want to take them down, you'll need my help."

Seraphine studied him for a long moment. She didn't trust him, not yet. But something about the fire in his eyes made her hesitate.

"Fine," she said finally. "But if you cross me, Mercer, you won't live long enough to regret it."

Callen smiled faintly, inclining his head. "Understood, Captain."

To Be Continued